Chapter 228: Chapter 228 - Guns
Malcolm’s POV
Malcolm stood at the door, one hand on the handle as he checked the road below, his eyes moving once across the people behind him before settling on Iyisha.
"Take care of him."
She nodded, biting her lip.
He went down the ladder first, the metal groaning under his weight as rust flaked from each step, his grip tightening along the sides as he controlled the descent.
He dropped the last few feet and landed low.
The street looked empty.
He knew it wasn’t.
Around the corner, hundreds were held in place by the noise coming from the opposite street where objects still dropped from the rooftop.
He glanced up and gave a short signal.
Move.
One by one, they came down.
Malcolm crouched and moved along the wall, putting down the ones stuck near the base of the building, his strikes controlled as he checked the perimeter at the same time.
A sharp sound cut through.
Metal hit concrete.
Malcolm looked up.
Archie hung from the ladder, one step bent out of place.
The metal gave way.
Archie dropped and landed hard.
The sound carried farther than it should have.
Low groans answered from the turn.
More followed.
"Move," Malcolm said.
They ran.
They kept close to the cars, slipping past the ones that turned too late, keeping their distance as they pushed out of the block while the sound behind them grew, then slowly faded as they cleared the area.
Malcolm listened as they moved.
No fast steps.
No screech.
No twitcher.
"Keep going."
A bus blocked the intersection ahead.
He moved to the side of it and crouched, pressing against the metal as the others followed, their breathing heavier now, their eyes sharper as they tried to steady themselves.
Harry wiped his face with his sleeve.
Archie bent forward slightly, catching his breath.
Arnulf stayed quiet, watching Malcolm.
"Where?" Malcolm asked.
Harry pointed toward a side street.
"Turn there," he said. "Then straight to the coliseum."
Malcolm looked forward. There were more undead but they are scattered around the area. They just need to be out of their sight and make no noise.
"Follow me closely."
Malcolm checked the corner, then looked back at them, reading the way they held themselves, the uneven breathing, the noise they didn’t realize they were making, and he exhaled through his nose.
This might be their first time out.
"Try not to shout."
They nodded.
He looked forward again and moved, the others falling in behind him.
One of them stepped on loose glass, the sharp crunch cutting through the quiet as Malcolm stopped and waited, listening for movement.
Nothing came.
He looked back once.
The man froze, breathing fast as he tried to steady himself.
Malcolm moved again.
The further they went, the quieter it became, the streets opening up into something that felt wrong as no walkers showed in the next block, or the one after that.
He slowed as soon as there are more undead on the next block.
He picked up a loose stone and threw it down the next street, the sound carrying as a few shapes shifted and turned toward it, drifting away slowly while he watched, then moved again.
They went farther than he wanted. If Iyisha and Lance are in danger, he’s too far to help.
The men behind him started to slow, their breathing heavier now, their steps losing rhythm as the strain settled in.
Malcolm adjusted his pace just enough to keep them moving.
Then he stopped again.
Down the road, a group of walkers stood in place, not moving, not wandering, all facing one direction.
His eyes dropped.
A mark cut across the concrete.
Deep.
He looked around.
Another mark.
His jaw tightened.
Hunters.
He looked back once, toward where they came from.
Toward Iyisha.
Then forward again.
They couldn’t go back empty.
"Keep moving."
They pushed forward and dropped into a crouch behind a line of cars as movement thickened ahead, more undead drifting into the street and cutting off the open path.
They dropped between cars, using the metal for cover as they caught their breath, the heat pressing down on them while the sun burned through the open street.
"There’s too many," Archie said, his voice low but shaking. The household knife in his hand was shaking mildly.
Arnulf leaned closer, whispering.
"Just be glad there’s no twitcher... no hunters."
Malcolm’s jaw tightened.
They’d better pray hard.
"That’s it," Harry said between breaths as he pointed ahead.
Malcolm followed his line of sight.
Two blocks.
Harry’s shirt clung to him with sweat. Archie had his shirt off, chest rising hard, while Arnulf leaned against a car, his legs trembling as he drank from his bottle, his hand shaking but they cannot stay out in the open longer.
Malcolm had a bad gut feeling.
"Move," Malcolm said.
They pushed themselves up and went again, Malcolm taking the lead as they crossed the street, cutting through gaps and keeping low, his eyes sharp as he tracked movement and avoided drawing attention.
The sign came into view.
Gun shop.
Two undead turned toward them.
Malcolm stepped in and put them down fast, one after the other, keeping it quiet before pushing the door open.
They moved inside.
The air hit first.
Stale and heavy.
Shelves stood half-empty, some stripped clean while others still held scattered boxes and gear left behind in a rush.
It’s raided but not cleared either.
A groan came from the side.
Three inside.
One trapped under a table, the other two dragging toward them.
Malcolm moved before they could close the distance and put all three down, clean and controlled, the bodies dropping with dull weight.
The others stayed near the floor, catching their breath.
He didn’t stop.
He checked the first corner, then the next, his movement tight as he cleared the space.
"Back room," he said.
They moved.
One stayed at the entrance.
The others followed.
The back door was closed.
Malcolm opened it slow.
Nothing.
Storage shelves lined the walls.
Some crates still sealed.
He opened one.
Ammo.
"Jackpot," Harry said, a grin breaking through the exhaustion.
"Take what we can carry," Malcolm said.
They moved fast, grabbing what they could as Malcolm checked each weapon before passing it off, discarding the ones too worn or rusted to trust.
A sound came from outside.
A scrape.
Malcolm froze.
The others followed.
He turned his head slightly toward the entrance.
Another sound.
Short.
Like something dragging.
Then nothing.
He lifted a hand.
Silence.
The men froze where they stood, their breathing cutting short as they looked at him, waiting.
Malcolm listened.
The scrape outside faded into nothing.
That kind of silence again.
His jaw tightened.
He looked at them.
"Hunter," he said.
The word hit.
Archie’s grip shifted on his gun, tightening too much. Arnulf’s eyes widened, his shoulders locking as he stared toward the door. Harry swallowed hard, his fingers fumbling for a second before he steadied his pistol.
No one spoke.
Malcolm motioned them closer.
"Heart," Malcolm said, low. "Don’t go for the head."
They nodded.
He reached for a shotgun and checked it, then loaded it with quick, quiet movements.
A faint sound dragged outside.
All of them flinched.
Malcolm didn’t.
He stepped toward the entrance and angled his body, eyes low first as he looked out, ready.
